


Hello Birdie

by baby_worm



Category: Paterson (2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Non Gender Specific Reader, Poetry, Rainy Days, Self Indulgent Fantasies :)), nothing is happening, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26220379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baby_worm/pseuds/baby_worm
Summary: Slow day with Paterson.
Relationships: Paterson (Paterson)/Reader, Paterson (Paterson)/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Hello Birdie

There are some days when the world is still. When the sun is slow to rise, and the whiz of traffic is faint and distant. When clouds darken and linger, and petrichor saturates the humid gusts of wind that shuffle through the decorative ferns of your garden. On these days, the world stays asleep for you. These are the days of recovery, days without strenuous creation or the tearing effort to heal.

 _11:00 A/M_.

Red L.C.D. lights glared at you, blurred by the expired film of sleep over your eyes. _How could it already be 11:00?_ The whisper of the crisp cotton duvet eased you awake as you fidgeted, feeling around at the empty, chilled sheets. “Pat?” you slurred, voice lethargic with the atrophy of unused muscles.

The front door opened and closed suddenly, followed by muffled steps of heavy feet on the living room carpet. A wobbly rustle of a paper bag.

“Pat?” you called again, a little clearer this time. Your legs swung over the side of your bed and you sheathed yourself in your favorite robe. The light outside was soft, dulled by clouds dressing in weighty condensation, and muted by the frames of folded curtains. The scent of butter and cheese and fruit wafted through the air as you entered the kitchen. Darling Paterson stood leaning over the table, arranging an assortment of dried fruit and cheese and two overflowing croissant sandwiches.

He turned to you at the sound of your tired, hiccuping sigh with a quiet smile. “Look who’s up. Hello, birdie.” He leaned to press his lips to yours, “good morning,” he murmured against your mouth.

“Mmh, good morning. What is going on here?”

Pat had woken up that morning to be graced with your face diffused in deep sleep. Forehead tucked into the fabric against his heart, the rhythmic beating of it making the flesh of your cheeks tick in sync. That made his heart quake between his ribs. The sight of you, lashes splayed over your unflexed expression, soft lips parted with breath. You held a striking resemblance to that of a regina, valiantly untroubled by the break of dawn or the rolling thunder of neighbor’s trash bins being led to curbside. The unrefined glory of your face amidst your slumber made his chest feel hot, and he was at ease. You were left with less than a care in the world. He had to endow you with a token of his regard. So he gingerly maneuvered himself out of bed and crouched for his slacks, a blue plaid button-up, and the rest of his attire.

He stood in the doorway and gave you one last glance before making his way to the garage. He silently recited the locations of your favorite pick-me-up spots. Considered flowers, considered wine, but landed on pastries. You’d probably be hungry enough for something big by the time you were awake. He knew you’d been up, working under the old overheating lamp; Your mind lapping at the salt of the late night creative epiphany for your craft. Knew you’d be awake later than you usually were.

“Oh, not much anything. I just thought I’d find something nice for you to wake up to.”

Paterson drank in the way your eyes glimmered, and he sighed, feeling his smile stretch wider across his face. “Pat, that is so sweet of you,” you clutched his arm and pulled him into another kiss, hoping he would taste your gratitude.

“Get ready, let’s eat.”

A comfortable silence steeped between the two of you in your dining room. You were sat, clad in your most comfortable clothes, dwelling in the rich, tangy flavors encompassed by a warm buttery croissant. The magnificently colossal being across the tea table from you had finished his sandwich in half your time, and was savoring the flavors of dried apple with some kind of creamy cheese he’d been reluctant to tell you the price of, mixed with seeds and maybe a little basil or mint. By the way he smiled with each bite, making one cheek protrude, the price must have been worth the symphony of such refreshing flavor.

You washed down the last bite of your late breakfast with a short glass of water. Paterson followed you with his eyes, enthralled by the beauty of your contentment, and the swipe of your tongue over your lips, collecting greasy, flaky crumbs.

“My, that was delicious.” You stacked your glass onto your plate, but Paterson hastily pried your dishes from you. “Thank you, dear.” As he stood, he considered you for a moment, and leaned over you. You tilted your face to him, and he stopped you with the back of his index finger, turning your profile slightly. He stooped further and pressed a soft kiss to your chin, licking at a spot of velvety residue from your sandwich. He thumbed the rest off with a giggle, and you felt heat wash over your cheeks. “Thank you,” you said again.

You stood and packed up the remaining amenities in a container to be stocked away in the fridge. “I’m feeling like tea. Would you like a little?” You reached for a saucepan and rummaged through a spice cabinet for two sticks of cinnamon.

“Sure, I’d love some.”

You waited for the tea to simmer while Paterson scrubbed at the few dishes in the sink. Your reflections caught your eye in the far mirror hung next to the garage door. There was a wonderful way you complimented each other. The two of you were from different walks of life, and yet you were somehow brought together, two organic, uneven halves. Matched like magnets. Neutralizing the roughened edges of each other’s condition with an otherworldly radiation of infatuation.

With a cup of tea in hand, you felt prepared for a short continuation of your work. Hopefully you’d be able to find a spark of that inspiration you felt flowing last night.

“I think I have a little more time in me. I’m going to see what I can do with it.”

“Okay. Take all the time you need.”

You found restless purchase in the creaky seat of your desk in the corner of the lounge. Paterson made his place in a crease of the more downy couch, and scoured for the right words to feed his secret notebook.

Disappointingly, no essence had found you in the midst of your work. But when you tried to evoke it, you found little energy to be irked. You were crashing from the heft of your breakfast, and soon your body would feel too heavy to move a muscle. So you sighed and pushed yourself out from the desk, and brought your mug to the sink. You turned off the lights that would guide you back to the couch, leaving the house to be illuminated solely by the kitchen sink light, and the soft yellow glow of a lamp near Paterson’s seat.

“Baby? Can I come sit with you?”

He looked up and clicked his pen. His brow furrowed a little and his lips pursed into a soft little “o.” “Are you alright?”

“Yes, just tired. I’ll have to finish my project later.”

“Of course. The labor of creativity is to be savored.” He smiled warmly, reached over the arm of the couch for a book to rest his eyes in, and patted the cushion next to him. Despite his invitation, you pushed his arms open, and climbed into his lap. He chuckled with a little “oh” and adjusted himself, letting you straddle one of his thighs and rest your head in the crook of his neck.

He leaned his cheek against your ear and cradled you, squeezing your chest close to his for a moment. He opened his book when he felt your breathing start to slow, but flipped through page after page thoughtlessly, instead reciting the poem he’d started to compose. It was always something he had to sit on for a little. Digest.

> _Birdie._
> 
> _My Birdie._
> 
> _Your face is my sun,_
> 
> _It saturates my world in light,_
> 
> _brings life to my bones_
> 
> _It reminds me when I’m tired_
> 
> _and reminds me that I’d been cold._

He hummed to himself and watched the worn pages of the book in his hands flit under his thumb.

The gentle pelting of rain incited beyond the window behind him. The drops were heavy, it might be only the beginning of something like a storm. The white noise of the wind and the refrigerator and Paterson’s breath engulfed you, aiding the comings and goings of twilight dreams. Sometimes you heard a distant knock on a door, incoherent whispers. And sometimes you heard an appreciative “hmph” from Pat as he admired selection after selection of whatever book he’d decided to delight in that day.

You could smell the lingering scent of tea, the humidity of canela and the houseplants dancing around you. And you could smell Pat, the refreshing musk of sleepy sweat and bread and fruit. But somehow you found he always cultivated the light essences of his days, abandoning the demerits like they were litter. He was coffee and gasoline and flowers and grass and beer and cedar and laundry soap.

“Patty?” your voice was small, but it echoed against the column of his throat and rang in your ears.

 _Patty_ felt rare. He liked it though. He crooned.

“Yes, bug?”

“Why do you always smell so sweet?”

His thoughtfulness rumbled in his chest. “I think I must get it from you, birdie.”

You mumbled incoherently into his neck, and he thought not to prod such a tender, drowsy mind. So he soothed lines along the curve of your spine with his fingertips and kissed your shoulder. He debated going back to read his book, but your weight on him was a charm, so enticing. So comforting. So he set the book down and slouched a little further back, dragging you to lean against his body. His heartbeat slowed in your ears, drowning any significance of whistling wind or pattering rain. All that remained was birdie and their admirer.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so pleased with this! been feeling extremely soft for Paterson lately. hope you enjoyed! xoxo


End file.
